


The Way it Was

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-12
Updated: 2008-03-12
Packaged: 2019-01-19 17:39:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12414852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: It was after long moments of staring at one another, of pretending to be engaged, of pretending to shift through the bitterness, that they simply gave up.  (Sirius x Remus...set in between GoF and OOTP as I've just reread both of those books)





	The Way it Was

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

It was complicated—it had been since Sirius had escaped from Azkaban. Both Sirius and Remus had spent the past thirteen years falling into similar self-pitying, self-destructive patters. Sirius had always bordered on the insane—it was was part of being a Black. Black's thrived on self-destruction and conflict and insanity so severe that it almost seemed normal. Azkaban had taken away whatever tied Sirius down to earth. Remus, he had always isolated himself—always hidden himself away and kept within his mind. Sometimes, it got to be too much and there were moments when he thought he might have been losing his mind. But then, James and Lily died, then, he knew he could only isolate himself farther. 

  
 

Their first meeting—the first time they had seen one another since Peter's escape, was one that drew upon both of their fears. Sirius, was petrified of human contact, scared of humanity. He sat, his head hung, sunken eyes darting back and forth, shifting his weight, as if expecting to have to flee at any moment—as if he expected Remus to change his mind—to send him back to Azkaban. His trust in humanity, in reality, in Remus was gone. Remus himself was simply apathetic to everything—thirteen long years alone—a certain ambivalence developed within oneself. Remus resigned himself to the fact that one day, maybe soon, maybe not so soon, Sirius would leave him alone again. Remus resigned himself to knowing that he would be left to the labyrinth of his mind once more. 

  
 

Their first meeting, it couldn't even be called a proper meeting. Very few words were spoken, very few words could be said. Nothing would make the past thirteen years disappear. Nothing would give Sirius his life back. Nothing would bring James and Lily back. It was pointless to meet as old friends, as old lovers—as nothing could ever go back, and the two both seemed to realize that nothing could ever go forward. Nothing would ever wash the hurt away—it was going to be an ever present stain on their lives. 

  
 

It was after long moments of staring at one another, of pretending to be engaged, of pretending to shift through the bitterness, that they simply gave up. No words could prepare them for what was actually happening between them. They had always been close. Close in a different way than Sirius and James or James and Remus (Peter was always the tag-along). For Remus and Sirius—the two were so similar, so broken, and so alone, that when they met—it was for the first time that they ever felt whole. Their relationship had always been based on simple, meaningful touches. It had been based on the realization that sometimes, dysfunction, was the very definition of normalcy. Their relationship had been built not just on the physical but on the emotional as well. They had loved and understood one another more deeply than either had realized—until that connection was severed. 

  
 

It was Remus who seemed to sense what needed to happen next (he doubted Sirius would have been able to.) All it took was a simple cock of Remus's head to signify time to leave the dinner table. Sirius sighed, he seemed to resigned, too nervous to even question Remus. Remus couldn't help but offer a soft, understanding smile as he lead Sirius to his bedroom. The light in the room was dim—it had a distinctly ethereal glow as the only source of light was that of the street lamp outside the window—but light didn't matter for them. They were running on memory. 

  
 

Hands trembling, Remus leaned forward and touched Sirius softly, one hand stroked the gaunt face, the touched Sirius's waste hesitantly. Sirius shied away from the touches at first, they were so foreign, so bizarre, that he wasn't sure what to do about them. But, he remembered somewhat—what it was like to be with Remus. He closed the gap between them, his own hands wrapping around Remus's waste. The hand that had been lightly, tepidly caressing Sirius's face, moved to the tangled locks of hair and pulled Sirius's face closer. 

  
 

Remus paused for a brief moment, yellow orbs connecting with painfully fathomless grey ones—the look asked for permission, confirmation, acceptance. It was a look that neither of them would have ever thought to give—but times were different now. Softly, slowly, Remus brought Sirius's face to his. The kiss was soft as chapped lips met another pair of equally chapped ones. It was the first time in thirteen years that they had been able to kiss. It should have been a kiss of never ending passion, it should have been a kiss that signified anger, passion, loneliness, desire, forgiveness. This kiss was none of the above. It was a kiss of acceptance as both Sirius and Remus seemed to realize that this was something that had to happen, not necessarily something that either of them wanted. 

  
 

Despite the seeming void of emotions in their actions, the two found themselves stripped with a slow determination. Sirius felt his calves collide with wood. They tumbled. Rustles of thread-bare cotton sheets. Flesh contacting flesh. Tepid touches, half-lidded eyes, soft, muffled moans. And then—catharsis.

  
 

(empty as it was)

  
 

As both men lay in Remus's bed, they couldn't bring themselves to admit what had happened. Couldn't bring themselves to admit what the sex meant. They couldn't bring themselves to speak, because words meant bringing what had happened into reality. Speaking, using words, meant going against both of their natures to dangle within their own self-disgust. Words would poison the situation, words would only bring the inevitable closer to them. But, lying there, in Remus's bed, sweaty and covered only by the street light, both men seemed to realize, that nothing, nothing could ever be the way it was.


End file.
